


Game Over

by Eromancery



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 09:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19002766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eromancery/pseuds/Eromancery
Summary: Kurloz Makara figures out what to do when everything goes to shit





	Game Over

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Eromancery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eromancery/pseuds/Eromancery) in the [New_Beginnings_Big_Bang_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/New_Beginnings_Big_Bang_2019) collection. 



_Walk into the darkness (A place for those who chose to give a fuck less) Wicked, dark and heartless (We keep it nutty and bloody for everybody here)_  
– Insane Clown Posse, Walk Into the Darkness  
  
_How the fuck could this be?  Up in the sky?  There is a rainbow over the hood! See we got homes, abandon fires flare. Don't dare walk down over there_  
 – Insane Clown Posse, Ghetto Rainbows  
  
The sky above the dreambubble is a rainbow mess of cracks, bloodstained chunks of sky falling like stars to reveal the infinite void behind. Against all odds and against all gods, the echo side has left Kurloz Makara unclaimed and damned to walk the carnival grounds forever more. Bang! Pow! Boom! Will not be appearing tonight, so sorry, show cancelled, no refunds!  He puzzles over this riddle. How could this have happened? Is this a test of his faith? He remains devout in spite of this setback. The thought that his god may have been permanently defeated does not even cross his mind.  
He is The Faithful.

_I wanna know, Where's God? {pitiful that} Where's God? Where's God, when shit goes down? I wanna know  
– Insane Clown Posse, Where’s God?_

The Ferris Wheel goes around another time, giving Kurloz Makara a view of the memory of a land that existed only to taunt him. He steps up to the side of the gondola and falls off. Gravity, the only master he has now, takes over, and he plummets to the ground below. Before he can embrace the tightly packed earth rushing towards him, instinct takes over and his wings unfurl from beneath his regal robes. The prince of rage is not allowed any hope whatsoever, even hope for the escape of double death. Despair, however, comes fast and cheap, and Kurloz finds it in no short supply.  
He is the Prince.

_SKREEEM!!! AHHHHHH!!!! What the fuck like a wild banshee!_ _SKREEEM!!! AHHHHHH!!!! Busting up like a wild banshee! SKREEEM!!! AHHHHHH!!!! Up and up like a wild banshee! SKREEEM!!! AHHHHHH!!!! They can't stand me but can't command me!_  
– Insane Clown Posse, SKREEEM!  
  
Kurloz Makara drops the glass shard and feels air flow through his mouth for the first time in aeons. What good are oaths, he thinks, in a world where prophecy is thwarted by an ignorant child? What use are riddles, when the answers are written by an idiot felled by his own creation? As he ponders these, confusion turns to anger. It spreads from his head to his chest, where it boils into pure fury. Although his vocal chords have grown weak from disuse, this is a land of memory, and this is a memory he knows very well.  
A terrible scream tears itself from his lips, neither croak nor expletive nor honk nor glub, but an expression of pure anguish. For too long he has grinned and borne it, taking the shit life and afterlife have given him. It is time, he thinks, for him to finally start fighting back.  
He is the Voiced.

_What about when the world's like fuck us kill us, what will you be? (down) What about when I'm 103, what will you be? (down, down) What about when the world's like fuck us kill us, what will you be? (down) What about when the carnival comes to your town? (I'm a be down with the clown)  
– Insane Clown Posse, Down With the Clown_

This shattered bubble once held gatherings of thousands, crowds of faithful discussing how to further their plans. Now it lies in ruin, opulent towers of memory shattered and forgotten, statues and masonry covered in overgrowth, the entire memory streaked with the rainbow cracks that have come to define this asphodel in the furthest ring. As the three Makaras watch, a section of the floor near them crumbles away into the nothingness beyond.

They have gathered here to discuss their next move.  
Six eyes glow purple, and suddenly the crumbling room is temporarily returned to its former glory, even if it is only an illusion. The emptiness of the room is even more evident now, the sight of what was once constantly packed with pilgrims now empty except for 3 becoming almost surreal.  
The Voiced is the first to break the mental silence.  
“ ** _Well that was a motherfuckin’ bone._** ” He says, chucklevoodoo-projected voice echoing through the ruins of the once-great halls.  
“ ** _A bone?_** ” says The Prince. “ ** _A bone? That wasn’t a fucking bone. That was our link untying, a one-way ticket out of Shangri-La and into Hell’s Pit. Nothing but the Echo Side for us now._** ”  
If any of the trolls foolish enough to call him a friend could hear him now, they would be shocked at the bitterness in his words. But all those trolls are gone now, dust littering the grounds.

The Faithful turns to them.  
“ ** _Fuck the noise that both of you are spewing. Is every setback an omen of defeat? Or are you simply trying to entice Red Fred with your bullshit?_** ”  
How could versions of him have lost their way like this? The lack of faith on display is shocking. What could have possible happened in their timelines to turn them into such embarrassments?

His response doesn’t sit well with The Prince.  
“ ** _Red Fred? Bitch, we’re fucking dead! Ain’t no pissing off Fred Fury by moaning about how shit our lives our, because we don’t got any! Our chances came and went and we’re still here like rubes on a midway who spent all our boonbucks trying to win a goldfish!”_**

The Voiced chimes in.  
“ ** _There are whispers of a way out. The crows whisper of the heiress raising the dead. We could move on, accept the brothers dropped the balls and get a second chance._** ”  
Lifetimes ago, he wouldn’t have even considered this. But times have changed and their lord has fallen. It is time, he thinks, for fate to deal him a new deck, a second deck.

Words leave The Faithful for a moment. This heresy is incomprehensible to him, especially from someone who shares his very being.  
“ ** _You want to just give up like that? Did the angel of double death not arrive? Is he not already here, from the end to the beginning of all? Of what consequence is an eventual defeat when time is his fucking bitch? Or is your faith as easily shattered as your vow?_**

“ ** _And of what consequence is a lord who gets his ass beat in the end?_** ” asks The Prince. “ ** _And what has he done but betray the wicked faith we put in him? He’s the one who fucked up the deal, not us._** ” He turns to The Voiced. “ ** _And what good would life be? Our link has been fucking lost! There isn’t any fucking reason to go back._** ”  
With that, The Prince gives up on helping maintain the illusion. Reality slams back in to the memory, the hall returning to its true, dilapidated visage. The Prince turns his back on the selves he once thought were his comrades, and storms out into the cold, uncaring memory of another life.

The Faithful turns to the Voiced.  
“ ** _Are you going to remain with me in faith, my brother?_** ” His projected voice is pleading. The Voiced realizes that he is scared.  
Despite his broken vow, the Voiced can not bring himself to answer in any way that matters.

_Underneath the shadows of the other side of time. If there is a hell then there must be a behind. You can take me to the ghetto land move everything and back. Take me from the Echo Side and never bring me back_  
– Insane Clown Posse, Echo Side  
  
The Faithful remains in the crumbling meeting hall, alone. He does not know how long he has been here. It took longer than it did for other ghosts, but he has finally lost his grip on time. But he refuses to believe that time has lost its grip on him. He awaits his lord of ruin amidst the ruins, his lord of the dead among the dead, and his lone messiah, alone. Eventually, he will fade away with the rest of this half-baked afterlife, the Horrorterror’s dreams of the single-damned ending. But to him, removed from Time, this day might as well never come. He will remain faithful. Forever.

_Angels are falling.  Angels are falling. Falling angels... come crashing down to the floor. Wont stop till I get the one that I'm lookin for...  
– Insane Clown Posse, Angels Falling_

The Prince stares down at the gaping void in front of him. Jagged rainbow cracks surround the hole, but despite their glow nothing beyond their rim is illuminated. It must be hard to illuminate nothing, he supposes.  
Is he really going to do this? he asks himself. Try as he might, he can’t think of any reason not to. His life’s and death’s work amounted to nothing. It is far too late for him to reinvent himself.  The narrative will not allow him to insert himself back into it.  
The Prince prays a quick prayer to the lord that has abandoned him, a thanks for this accidental gift, before he throws himself into the hole in the bubble and into the furthest ring beyond.  
In the last second before his consciousness dissipates, off to Shangri-la or one of the many tortures the carnival has for sinners he does not know, he relaxes, freed from his invisible prison at long last, and slips comfortably into beautiful doom.

_I see miracles everyday. Oceans spanning beyond my sight And a million stars way above em at night. We don't have to be high to look in the sky And know that's a miracle opened wide. Look at the mountains, trees, the seven seas And everything chilling underwater, please.  
– Insane Clown Posse, Miracles_

The Voiced (No, he is Kurloz Makara!) is reborn amongst sunlight and birdsong.  
It was not hard to get the heiress to use her power on him. He still maintained a mental connection with his ex-matesprit, so talking through her and asking was simple.  
But something so simple should not have worked as well as it did. The scent of fresh air fills his nostrils for the first time in a literally undefinable amount of time. He can see the sky. How blue it is! It occurs to him that he has never seen a daylit sky until now, the sun of Beforus being far too dangerous. And how crisp this air is! And how clean these sounds! His senses are overwhelmed by a million sensations he has forgotten. How could he have been trying to destroy this? This is more of a paradise than any blood-splattered church! He has his whole life ahead of him. One free of angels and devils and prophecies and games. He is tantalized by the riddle of how he is to begin to start.  
He is Kurloz Makara. The world is real. And it is fucking miraculous.

_With Tilt a whirls and merry goes, and a carnival of faygo_

_We're just tryin to tell you about the light, right_

_Now all the jokers cards have fallen with spectacular array_

_So when the wraith is calling, walk into the light, right_

_– Insane Clown Posse, Walk Into the Light_


End file.
